


The Swordeater

by Bad_Wolf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Carnival AU, M/M, NSFW, circus AU, idk???, yuuri is amazing and sort of intentionally seduces victor by deep throating a sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Wolf/pseuds/Bad_Wolf
Summary: Yuuri works at a carnival as a swordeater.Victor sees him and is immediately seduced.Also Victor thinks Yuuri might actually be magic?But more importantly, Yuuri's ass looks amazing in his costume.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [The Sword Swallower.](https://somethingyoirelated.tumblr.com/post/161599453841/yuuris-newest-profession-sword-swallowing)   
> 

“I swear he’s just your type,” promised Phichit, flicking Victor’s nose a little harder than necessary, “He’s really nice but super shy so make sure you don’t-“

“Here we go,” muttered Victor, “I knew you were going to be weird about this. You know I don’t like blind dates as it is-“

“Just trust me!” insisted Phichit, “He’s really cute and just your type, I think. Just please promise me you won’t fuck on the first date, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Victor was regretting this. To be fair the carnival grounds looked exciting, but the part where Phichit was trying to set him up with a random person was annoying.

“Get to know him first. He tends to get embarrassed over one night stands-“

“You’re setting me up with a fuckboy?” Victor almost turned around and left.

“No! I’m not! He’s just....ugh. Promise me you won’t-“

“I promise to keep my hands above the belt,” said Victor with mock solemnity.

Phichit punched his arm hard enough to hurt, “Don’t be an ass. He’s a sweet person, honestly. He just likes to roll people, okay?” Phichit bought their entrance tickets and they were waved through. The high walls that allowed sound and the occasional firework out did their job of enticing the curious and of keeping visitors feeling disoriented and bubbled away from their boring day-to-day lives. “I just don’t want this to be another fling for him. He needs someone who is like you.”

Victor snorted, “Someone like me? Someone boring and steady compared to your friends obviously exciting life? Thanks for that shining endorsement.”

“Fine. Don’t listen to me,” Phichit growled, “But I’m telling you, my friend’s just as ridiculous as you are. If you don’t like him, I’ll eat my phone.”

Coming from Phichit, who would rather lose his life than his phone, it was high commendation.

“Alright, alright,” said Victor gently, “So what’s this perfect man’s name?”

“Yuuri,” said Phichit after a moment, “I have to warn you though. He’s going to leave in a week.”

Victor snorted as he bought a small bag of popcorn for Phichit and an ice cream cone for himself. “I’ll make sure not to get attached,” he said sarcastically.

Phichit stole the ice cream and stuck his tongue into it. He happily bit into the ice cream, much to Victor’s horrified gaze. “Whatever you say, Victor.”

...

“Shit!”

Victor shook his phone, as if it would do more than make him look stupid. Against Victor’s hopes and in keeping with reality, no bars appeared on his phone screen. He tried to text Phichit again but the message bounced back with a -no service- note attached. He groaned and took a moment to calm down. He could see the giant tent where the main show would be held in ten minutes, but he kept getting lost. No matter which streets or alleyways he crept through he always missed the main thoroughfare that was a straight shot to the big tent. Fantastic.

He looked around dully, this area of the carnival was full of kid games and bright characters enticing parents to spend more money for their children’s fun. He tried again, staring hard at the cutesy lane names as he tried to reach the main thoroughfare: Evita, Noa Noa, Pinball, Sucker’s Alley, Dreamland.

“Ugh!” He was now on the opposite side of the large tent. How did he keep missing the goddamned road?! He checked his phone, no bars and his battery was running out as his phone kept trying to find a sliver of connection.

He looked around, this street was narrow with large tents and low cello music filtering out through invisible speakers. Sultry music tempting visitors to peek into the tents and indulge. There were a lot of warning signs in front of most tents, tents decorated in silks and lace. Victor looked closer at one of the signs in front of an acid green and black tent.

[Warning: Children under 13 must be accompanied with an adult]

Victor looked at the placard above the tent.

[The most flexible woman in the world! Let your eyes and imagination feast on: Mistress Gordian]

Ah.

He checked his phone again and groaned, realizing the show had started ten minutes ago. Damn, Phichit was going to kill him. Oh well, it’s not like he lost anything by not meeting Phichit’s mystery friend.

Resigning himself to missing the show, Victor thought there was no reason he should miss out _all_ of the fun. People were still streaming in and out of tents, chattering excitedly. He went into the flexible woman’s tent.

It was an interesting show, and Victor felt woefully out of shape when compared to the women inside. Not that he was eager to try any of those positions, contortionist he was not. Too tall, too broad in the chest.

 The next tent over had a similar warning about children but it announced a fire eater [Mistress Ire!] and the [Mistress Shade]. Intrigued, Victor stepped inside.

This tent was festooned in flashing reds and blues, gaudy. He shuffled into the back row, the show already started. A woman was breathing fire and making shapes on the flames, hypnotizing and intriguing. The woman finished her routine and she accepted their praise gracefully. A cloaked person walked through the crowd, holding out a black velvet bag, people who deposited money into it got a few words from the cloaked person, each of them jolted back, mouth hanging open in shock.

Victor stood up and held out some money, the person, a woman, approached him and Victor dipped his hand into the bag. His fingers felt momentarily frozen, a chill so cold that he snatched his hand back, fingers aching.

“You should volunteer,” whispered the woman, “And don’t listen to Phichit.”

Victor flinched, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. How had she known any of that? How had she known who he was here with and that-

The person next to him snickered and Victor snapped his mouth shut. He ran shaking fingers through his hair. Microphones, cameras, drones, satellites. Any of those were reasonable, if creepy, explanations for how the woman knew. People were filtering out and Victor followed them. He felt so dazed that he didn’t realize the crowd had nudged him into the next tent over, the show already starting.

Victor stood in the middle aisle, wondering if this was a fever dream. The background of this show was a simple black screen with a sign declaring [Sword Swallower: Eros]. A young man stood in the middle of two wooden pillars about as thick as Victor’s torso.

Stripped to a pair of spandex shorts studded in jewels was a young man, Eros, winking at the crowd as he tongued the sharp end of a sword and easily slid it down his throat. Victor could feel his stomach loosen and pool with heat, he chose the first seat he spied and slammed himself into it. He was in the first row.

The young man spun a lazy circle to prove there were no tricks and then slowly pulled the sword out, a thin sheen of saliva on the sword. The audience whistled and clapped as the young man smirked and bowed mockingly at them, “Thank you! Thank you! I am Eros and tonight I will be ruining your opinion of kitchen knives.” He swung the sword as if it were an umbrella and the audience laughed, “And do not think badly of me if you go home and find there are no more knives in your homes. Sometimes I cannot help myself.” He stopped and sighed sadly, pulling a few more chuckles from the crowd. Eros stopped in front of a parent with a sixteen-year-old girl next to them, he slapped the flat part of his sword onto his palm and the noise cut through the audience’s chatter.

“ _Don’t_ try this at home. Got it?”

The girl nodded and Eros whirled in a tight circle, coming to face the girl again. Except he held an ice cream cone, the ice cream dyed a violent shade of green. How or more importantly _where_ he got that ice cream from was difficult to say. Victor swallowed tightly. Eros bowed and held it out to the girl who accepted it with a nervous look. She tasted it, wrinkling her face in surprise, “It’s chocolate!”

Victor pulled his eyes from Eros’ mouth curling into a smile; the audience giggled too, eased away from the sudden tension and Eros’ sharp words towards the child.

His fingers trailed the metal of the sword. It still looked wet with saliva and Victor wished he’d thought of wearing something less form-fitting, like a giant pea coat, something to hide under.

“The carnival is full of tricks. But this-” He swung the sword violently against one of the wooden pillars, the audience flinched and yelped as the sword tore violently into the wood, “Is not.”

Eros threw the sword into the air, and it spun, shining and sharp over his head. No one moved, no one breathed.

Eros held out his hand to catch the sword as it completed one last rotation, but something was wrong. Victor clenched the bag of popcorn in his hand, the sword wasn’t going to do enough turns. And the ruby, encrusted sword fell sharp-end down, slamming into Eros’ hand.

The audience gasped and Eros slammed to his knees, head bowed. The audience shrieked and upended their seats.

Victor leapt out of this chair and rushed forward. He grabbed Eros arm and realized there was no blood, no injury.

Eros surged back up, and whistled one high piercing note, stopping the panic in its tracks. He held his pierced hand out, palm up. Eros allowed the audience to see he wasn’t in any pain and closed his fist against the hilt and with his other hand he popped the blade section away from the back of his hand.

Amused with their reaction, Eros said mildly, “I told you I was going to ruin knives for you.”

He demonstrated the magnetic character of the sword, the hilt popping on and off from the blade easily. Some people sat back down, laughing nervously, other remained standing still spooked. Yuuri reconnected the sword and held it between the flat of his palms, blade down.

“The reason. It’s suddenly. Magnetic.” He grunted between each sentence as he pressed his palms together, as if trying to crush the hilt into paper, “Is because- of this! Hah!” Eros’ hands slid past one another and suddenly there were two swords in his hands. Most of the audience was still trying to decide whether they should leave or not. “I try to stay three swords and below, or weird things start happening; the government tries to accuse me of witchcraft, for one.”

And again the tension breaks completely and Eros gives his audience time to reseat themselves. He shifts both swords into one hand and turns to Victor, grabbing the back of his shoulder.

“Please thank our lovely volunteer! Your concern is _touching_. Let’s give him a hand!”

As the audience claps for him, Victor stiffens, feeling Eros’ hand slowly trailing down his side, fingers splayed wide against his ribs, stopping at his waist. He feels a soft pressure, pushing him away and follows it, moving away, back to his seat.

“Oh _no_ ,” says Eros, “You can’t go just yet! You volunteered!”

The Mysterious Shade’s suggestion that he should volunteer makes Victor stammer, “I g-guess so.”

Eros smirks and waves his arm out, “What a good sport. Now pay very close attention and you might not kill me, sweetheart.” Eros was leaning into his space, far hand trailing small soothing strokes against Victor’s palm.

The audience chuckled, prepared to trust that Eros wouldn’t do something horrific, like die in front of them.

“Okay,” said Victor, his tongue felt thick and he momentarily imagined several hours from now, alone in his bed, jerking himself off with the same hand Eros was currently touching.

For his part, Eros looked remarkably calm. He stepped towards the audience and said, “I need two volunteers to hold these swords while I fetch the third one.”

Five hands went up and Eros gave one sword to the teenage girl and the other to an elderly woman who looked utterly delighted at her luck.

“Now that they’re split, the swords aren’t magnetic. Which means if I tried that joke again I’d lose my hand. Please be careful.” He clasped his hands in supplication, “I don’t want either of you injured.”

Eros stepped back from the audience once more and nudged Victor to the side. “Give me some space sweetheart, just a bit.”

The tent went strangely quiet and Victor was startled when the lights along the ceiling started flickering.  Eros spun in a lazy circle, arms held out. Victor strained his eyes to look at Eros’ hands, they were flickering backwards and forwards. Curling and extending, gathering up air and then releasing something that only Eros could see. The lights flickered faster, and something began coalescing in Eros’ mouth. It looked exactly like the rounded hilt of the other swords, a dark ruby gleamed between Eros’ teeth.

Victor gasped as the ruby jewel rose, and incredibly it was attached to a hilt. The audience started clapping but Eros continued turning slowly, waving his hands in hypnotic twists of his wrists and elbows, shoulders and torso following along.

At last there was a complete hilt rising above Eros mouth and the lights stopped flickering. Eros coughed and doubled over, the audience gasped again and someone shrieked, but Eros held his hand out and straightened.

 This was ridiculous, Victor wanted to sit down, his knees were shaking. Slowly, carefully, Eros pulled out a sword exactly like the twins. He triumphantly held it over his head and the audience, stunned, clapped loudly and whistled.

Eros beamed at them, “See? No more tricks! This is pure steel forged-“ The sword held over his head flopped and landed on his hair with a wet squelch. Eros cleared his throat in annoyance, “I _said_ , this pure steel-!” He shook the sword hard and it straightened, “mined from the distant Eleilk Mountains where-“ the sword softened again, this time slapping Eros’ face with a wet sloppy sound. The audience looked at one another in confusion.

Eros blushed, “I swear I usually don’t have performance issues.” He savagely shook the sword and the audience cottoned on, laughing at Eros struggling to keep the sword from softening. It would remain sharp and gleaming one moment and the next it would wilt, no matter how hard Eros shook it. Victor relaxed, sighing loudly.

Eros turned to wards Victor, “My volunteer! Of course! You can help me, right?”

“Uh, yes?” Victor edged closer to Eros, noting that the sword looked like some gross grey jello sculpture, it flopped around the floor, picking up stray dirt and hair on it’s sticky surface.

“Here, shake it as had as you can. No no, not like _that.”_

The audience giggled as Victor tried swinging the sword like Eros had. Eros was short and slim, but his muscles were well-defined, and from this close Victor could see the thin shine of sweat on his brown skin.

Without an ounce of shame, Eros snuggled up behind Victor and the audience shrieked in delight when Victor blushed.

Eros laid his cheek against Victor’s back and whispered loudly to the audience, “I don’t think my volunteer should have _any_ trouble making my sword hard again.” Victor’s entire face felt ready to melt, even as Eros backed away, separating himself from Victor except for a hand on his left hip and another on his right elbow where he held the sword. It was too late for Victor who felt the heat from the momentary touch trickle down his torso and pool in his stomach.

“Okay,” said Eros, completely oblivious, “Now shake it properly. Like _this._ ”

Victor tried, and on the third attempt the sword seemed to frost and hiss, jello solidifying into bright metal. But then it flopped again and Eros ‘tsked’. “Seems like you have performance issues too, my dear volunteer.”

Victor laughed, willing to be the butt of a joke, “If you give me a second, I can get it up for sure.”

The audience howled and Victor enjoyed the way Eros’ lips curled into a smile.

“Once more,” instructed Eros, this time guiding Victor’s elbow into a slight thrust and shake. The sword hissed loudly and the jello evaporated, leaving behind a gleaming gold sword.

Eros gasped, “A gold sword!” He bumped Victor’s hip playfully, “Any lucky persons wish to be touched into gold tonight?” He grasped Victor’s hand and they bowed together while the audience whistled and yelled.

“Now, is the child sufficiently traumatized?” Eros smiled apologetically. “Okay! My swords, please.” He collected the swords and with a critical eye inspected them to his satisfaction.

“This will be the last part of my act, and requires the delicate touch of a beautiful maiden,” he pulled Victor forward, “Thank you for volunteering, fair maiden!” Victor grinned when the audience laughed.

“That’s Princess to you, Mister Eros,” said Victor.

Eros must have made a funny face because the audience was in stitches. He twisted around, but Eros just blinked at him innocently, making the audience laugh harder.

With a flourish, Eros swung all three swords into one hand and grabbed Victor’s left hand with his free one. “You’re going to touch my throat, _very_ gently.”

“Uhhh...”

Victor wanted to swipe his tongue along the exposed skin of Eros’ throat, “Like it’s your first time,” promised Victor, eliciting howls and cheers from the crowd.

Satisfied with that promise, Eros had Victor ring the swords with his nails, clear notes of varying tones filled the tent and seemed to continue vibrating, long after the sound died away. Then he twisted their hands together, fingers lacing.

Eros tipped his head back and slowly slid the first sword in, Victor gripped Eros’ hand tightly and Eros squeezed back to comfort him.

He swung the second sword in an elaborate spiral before sliding it down his throat, Victor watched Eros’ throat twitch. The last sword was shorter, but it gleamed with a strange film, even as Eros swung it against one of the wooden pillars, dragging the flat of the sword against the rough wood.

There was a crack as the sword caught fire, bright blue flames hissing and dancing. Victor gulped and looked at Eros who winked at him, squeezing his fingers lightly. The audience fell silent as the sword disappeared, inch by inch down Eros’ throat.

Victor wasn’t sure his eyeballs weren’t on fire either when Eros took his empty hand and ran it down his throat, down his chest, caressing his stomach. A dark plume of smoke rose from Eros’ mouth.

Then Eros lifted his hand, releasing Victor’s fingers. Eros head was still tilted back and he winked. Trembling, Victor reached out and carefully touched Eros’ throat, under his fingers and under Eros’ skin he could feel a hard edge press back, unyielding.

Victor snatched his hand back, and gasped, “Yup! That’s- It’s- Real!” The audience clapped so loudly that he almost missed how Eros’ eyes crinkled in amusement. Eros shooed him back with an imperious flick of his hand and Victor stumbled back to his seat.

Eros took center stage and twirled, the lights started to flicker again in a hypnotizing rhythm. Victor leaned forward, focusing on Eros sway of hips and the turn of his hands. The lights continued to strobe, and seconds were lost to the dark flashes and bright explosions of light. Eros abruptly stopped, lifted his hands and grabbed all three hilts, shoving down hard. Victor gasped just as the strobing lights turned red and then cut out, leaving them in darkness. There was a loud clatter of metal on floor and of metal striking against itself. The lights flickered and dimmed and then blazed brightly, leaving them all blinking and half blind. Three swords lay on the floor with no Eros in sight, but a cloaked woman standing before the swords, holding a small velvet bag.

“Thank you for coming.” She started walking amongst the audience, many of whom rushed towards her, asking questions and stuffing bills into the bag. Victor remained rooted to his seat and listened to more than one man and woman try to get Eros’ number and/or dressing room location. When the bag came near, Victor dropped a large bill, making sure to keep his fingers above the hem. The woman smiled and leaned forward, “Patience.”

Victor nodded, still feeling Eros’ hand clasped in his own. Eventually most of the audience filtered out, but the swords were still there, gleaming and looking sharp.

Victor turned when he heard a familiar voice at the entrance, “No. I can’t. I’m tired. Tomorrow. Yes, obviously, but no more tonight.” Victor stood up just as Eros ducked into the tent, looking whole and hale. If a bit tired.

If Eros was startled to see Victor, he hid it well, giving him a weary smile. “Hello my cheeky assistant.”

“I can’t believe you let me do that! It was so dangerous!”

Eros lifted an eyebrow and laughed, “Wow, Eros you’re so beautiful. Can I touch you? What you do is so amazing! Can you deep throat more than 3 swords?”

Victor blushed, “S-sorry.”

“No,” said Eros softly, his eyes gentling “I see that you were genuinely worried. That’s... sweet. And weird.” He picked up the swords, swinging them in his hands so fast that they turned into a blur, and when he stopped there was only one sword. Victor stared.

“Come on, out with you,” Eros held a hand out, “The show’s over.” He was smirking at Victor, but Victor barely noticed because Eros was still clad only in shorts with half his ass hanging out. It looked like a delectable ass, now that Victor could take time to appreciate it without having to concentrate on multiple swords.

“I know how to give a show too,” shot back Victor, even as he was hustled out of the tent.

“Do you now, Princess?” Eros sounded amused, and even as they stepped out, his hand didn’t move from Victor’s back. “And what is it you do?”

Victor realized Eros probably thought he was looking for work. There hadn’t been a reason or plan for why Victor had listened to the cloaked woman, only a feeling that he ought to listen. So he whirled on Eros, coming close enough to brush his forehead against Eros’, “Whatever your heart desires,” purred Victor, one hand coming up to trace the hard line of Eros’ naked chest.

Eros’ smile was slow and languid, giving Victor the prickling feeling that Eros had known all along this was how the evening was going to play out. Victor took the slim brown wrist, “Let me show you.”

“Okay,” he walked quickly, twisting and turning through tiny alleyways and ducking through posts, waving away amused looks from fellow workers. More than once a person who obviously knew of Eros’ habits said, “Another one? You’ll dehydrate yourself.”

Eros never responded, just stuck his nose in the air and kept Victor moving. It was embarrassing to know this was Eros MO, but with every jiggle of his ass, Victor found himself caring less and less. A lay was a lay, and with someone like _Eros_ , Victor gulped in anticipation.

...

The room was dark when they arrived, Eros lit some fragrant candles and in the gentle wash of candlelight flickering against the dips and curves of Eros’ body, Victor felt light-headed.

“Um,” said Eros, looking a little nervous, “I’m not sure how far you want to go, but anything you want is fine,” he blushed prettily and Victor stepped forward, cupping Eros’ elbows, pulling them close, “You’re very, very beautiful,” added Eros, touching the edge of Victor’s fringe. Eros’ voice was wistful and tender, not at all what a person who fucked their way through every town should sound like.

“My name’s Victor.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Eros’ mouth, he felt laughter push against him.

“And I thought you’d let me keep calling you Princess,” murmured Eros’, “But I like Victor.” He pressed himself close and Victor let his hands wander up Eros’ sides.

“That’s Princess Victor to you,” he murmured, latching onto Eros’ neck.

“No marks,” said Eros and Victor loosened his hold.

“No evidence,” whispered Victor and Eros’ pulled back, eyes dancing.

“Well I didn’t say _that_.”

They ended up on Eros’ small bed, Victor scrambled out of his clothes, frantically kicking off his shoes and shucking off his underwear while Eros struggled with the buttons of Vitor’s shirt, and it was easy to hook his fingers into the waistband of Eros’ shorts and slide them off while palming as much ass as possible.

But to his surprise, Eros flipped them so Victor was underneath and he reached into a little box by the bed, rummaging until he found lube. Victor gasped when Eros poured cold lube onto Victor’s dick, but that sensation was quickly drowned out when Eros took them both in hand, stroking them together, it was a shocking sensation and all Victor could do was wrap and arm around Eros’ head, bringing him in for a kiss that sucked the wind and air and sense out of Victor.

“Please tell me you like blow jobs,” gasped Victor, arching against Eros and almost bucking him off, “Let me do that. For you.” Victor quickly realized that Eros probably never deep throated anyone, ever. No marks, nothing that would interfere with his show.

Eros closed his eyes tightly and nodded, “Yes. Yes.” He shuffled up in the bed and Victor was pleased with the tremble in Eros’ thighs, he gently nibbled his way up, feeling a hand threading into his hair. Victor felt a tinge of worry but relaxed when all Eros did was keep petting him. There was something dark and heavy weighing Victor’s body down, he was aching hard and the man above him was beautiful enough to worship. So he did.

It was easy to work Eros up into a trembling mess, no longer in control, with precum drooling out his dick. Victor liked the image and closed his eyes so he could press it into his memory, even as he also memorized the moans and how Eros’ lips formed his name, begging and praise mixed into one word.

“ _Victor. Princess. My Princess._ ” Eros shuddered, his knees lightly squeezing Victor’s ribs, his hand in Victor’s hair encouraging and soft.

Victor moaned and dropped a hand to his own cock, even as Eros tapped his head, his voice breathless and lusty. “Princess. You might want to-“

Victor ran his lips slowly down Eros’ length and moaned loudly, Eros threw his head back, arching his chest instead of fucking into Victor’s mouth as he came. Victor’s jaw ached, even as Eros slowly dragged him upright, fingers swiping along the drool and come on Victor’s lips. It was almost reflex to swipe his tongue across Eros’ fingers on his lips, making Eros’ breath stutter. He was so beautiful, he grinned wickedly, reaching up to wipe the last bit of wetness from his own mouth.

“What do you want,” asked Eros, leaning forward, touching two fingers to Victor’s mouth,

“Watch me,” said Victor, “Please.” Eros nodded, nudging Victor back until he laid down. It was funny how Eros arranged Victor on the bed, propping him up with pillows, intense eyes roving over him. Victor ended up comfortably couched, legs splayed open, inviting and wanton. Victor took himself in hand, he was so close already that slow strokes might push him over, “I told you I’d put on a show.” Eros laughed, deep and throaty, bending forward for a kiss, even as he dropped a hand over Victor’s, stroking his knuckles.

“Make yourself feel _good_ ,” said Eros and Victor bit his lip, dropping his head back and allowing himself to bask in the feeling of Eros’ eyes drinking him in, and it made the pull of his hand feel even better under those hungry, dark eyes.

When Eros placed a hand on Victor’s inner knee, trailing his fingers and palm slowly up, Victor opened his knees wider and heard Eros’ breath shake at the sight, his hand slid up Victor’s hip and landed on his stomach, Eros pressed down and Victor felt his knuckles strike against Eros’ hand as he jerked himself off.

Eros leaned down, pressing lightly on Victor’s belly, feeling how the muscles tightened, “Let me see you, Princess. You’re so pretty, let me see you come.” The dark words made Victor’s toes and thighs curl, he gasped, wrapping a hand around Eros’ shoulders, bringing him down for a kiss. Victor wanted to pour his feelings into the kiss, the heat he felt and the desire rendering him liquid, Eros responded in kind, hand stroking his stomach, tongue pouring hot want that made Victor short circuit and rut into the air, wanting more.

“Eros,” moaned Victor, forming the words against smiling lips, “Eros. You live up to it.” Eros grabbed his chin and Victor allowed him to watch when he spilled against both their hands, hot release that made Eros smile as he watched Victor’s eyes hungrily.

Eros gathered Victor up, whispering praise with words that Victor’s ringing brain couldn’t understand. He allowed Eros to curl him into a ball, leaving the bed only for a moment, and coming back so quickly that Victor was still bringing himself down from the high flung crash. A warm towel touched his skin and Victor mumbled, “You don’t have to-“

“I want to, Princess,” said Eros warmly, “That was a lovely show. Let me take care of you.” Eros slid a hand under Victor’s neck and Victor luxuriated in the way Eros wiped him down, all of him. It was an intimate gesture. Victor pressed his fingers against Eros chest, feeling the rabbit-quick beat of his heart.

“You do this for everyone, Eros?” Victor sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Not really. Well it depends,” muttered Eros, disappearing into a bathroom and reemerging without the dirty towel.

“It depends?” Victor bent down to pick up his clothes and to his surprise, Eros help shake out and fold them.

“Do you want some chocolate?” Eros’ voice was stilted and Victor grinned.

“Chocolate?”

“This isn’t the question game,” said Eros with a small smile, handing over Victor’s neatly folded shirt, “You can leave if you want, but I’m making hot chocolate, you can have some if you want.”

Victor was helpless under the timid smile, “I’d love some. Where can I-?” He held out his clothes which Eros took and laid them over a clean surface, “Go sit on the bed.” Victor crawled back into the bed while Eros slipped on some loose shorts that hung low enough to show the dark shadow of hair on his lower back. Victor closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself, he still felt woozy from the orgasm; it touched the base of his neck, the inside of his elbows, where he didn’t expect there to be the rub of skin, made his arms ache.

Eros poured boiling water into a pot and then brought out a jar full of thick liquid. Not liquid, realized Victor when Eros used a knife to scrape shavings from the jar, the scrapings accumulated into the pot, melting slowly. He spent a long time stirring, the air smelled thick and delicious, but it also struck something within Victor’s throat that made him cough.

Eros laughed, “I’ll water down your cup.” Victor didn’t know what to make of it, of hot chocolate that bit his throat even from two feet away. Eros added more spices into the chocolate: ground cinnamon, roughly chopped vanilla, something that looked suspiciously like zest from some unknown citrus. He mixed it and kept a sharp eye on the pot, never letting it boil over.

He brought out two copper mugs and added heavy cream to one, “You’re not intolerant, are you?” It took Victor a second to realize the question was aimed at him, he’d been too busy looking at Eros’ fluid back.

“To dairy? No.”

“I am. I keep this for guests.” He filled both mugs, froth bubbling over the brim.

Victor knelt on the bed and took both mugs from Eros, allowing him to rearrange the pillows around into a comfortable nest and then taking his chocolate from Victor. “Aah!” Eros curled up and toasted Victor with a small, wicked smile.

“To beautiful gods,” said Victor playfully.

“To irresistible princesses,” laughed Eros, wriggling his legs over Victor’s.

The first taste of chocolate is exactly like Eros, overwhelming and shocking. It’s chocolate, yes. But it also prickles the back of Victor’s throat with an unexpected sharp taste that Victor can’t place, it’s the vanilla and cinnamon that bring him back for another sip, soothing the sting into something familiar. He notices Eros watching him with amusement.

“It’s good,” says Victor, finally identifying the taste of heavy cream curling around his tongue, “Can I taste yours?” Eros nods and Victor’s eyes water at how his tongue burns.

Eros leans back into the pillows, sighing happily, “I love this chocolate, but I can only find it from this one old woman in this specific city in Mexico, so I stock up whenever I can.”

Victor nods, closing his eyes and enjoying the intermingling of flavors. There’s definitely citrus in there. The chocolate coats his throat and curls in his stomach like a warm cat. It’s easy to stay in this stranger’s bed and drink something he obviously loves, Victor isn’t sure how much time passes until his mug is empty, is only aware of Eros having inched closer and closer until they were curled together, Victor’s hand in Eros’ lap, stroking down the smooth line of his thighs.

He doesn’t mind.

Eros is saying something about his future shows and Victor thinks he responds appropriately, but it’s the quiet rise and fall of his voice that lulls him.

“Victor? I asked you if you had to go anytime soon?” Eros lightly pinches his cheek.

“I... uh... No. I don’t want to go,” he says, blushing at his shamelessness.

“Okay,” says Eros softly, “I’m... I’m glad.” And Victor is pleased to see the hint of a blush on Eros’ face. They both fumble through the usual routine of getting ready for bed. Victor is delighted to see bars on his cellphone again and texts Phichit what he’s doing, but not with whom.

[It’s fine, I guess. My friend wasn’t in the show anyway so you didn’t miss much.  :c   IDK where he is though :S]

Victor breathes in relief. [Okay. I don’t really care. But I hope he’s okay?]

Phichit doesn’t answer for a long time and when he does what he sends is, [The bastard is getting laid! WTF. I’m going home! >:C]

Victor laughs and sends him several emojis that he hopes show Phichit how smug he’s feeling.

“You look pleased with yourself.” Eros tumbles back into bed, yawning and shucking off his shorts, “You don’t mind do you?”

“Oh yes,” said Victor, tossing his phone aside, “I mind very, very much.” He let his eyes wander and Eros laughs, nudging him with his foot.

They end up not sleeping for a long time because Victor asks a stupid question about the carnival that has Eros laughing hard enough for tears to slide down his face. Victor buries his shame in Eros’ neck and receives a tight hug from Eros still chuckling, “You’re adorable, Princess.”

Victor blushes harder and whines, making Eros giggle.

Sleep eventually overtakes them both and Victor revels in the feeling of being tucked into the warmth of Eros, he trails a hand across the man’s hip and sticks his nose into Eros’ neck, falling asleep to the scent of extinguished candles.

...

It’s late.

It smells like predawn darkness, wax, and unwashed dishes. Victor gasps and panics, shooting upright, throwing Eros to one side. Eros grumbles and reaches for Victor’s arm.

Oh, right.

“Sorry, darling,” whispers Victor laying back down and rolling Eros into his arms.

“ ‘S wrong?” croaks Eros, nuzzling Victor’s chest.

“No nothing,” says Victor, he piles pillows behind Eros, couching and supporting his back, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Eros hums and pulls Victor down for a kiss, it’s lazy and indulgent. The wet heat of Eros’ tongue calming Victor’s still spiked heartbeat. He sighs into the kiss, melting further into the embrace.

“Princess,” murmurs Eros, brushing his hair back, “Shh. It’s okay, Princess. I’m here.”

...

The knocking is insistent, which is what wakes both of them.

Eros looks at the time and swears up a blue storm, “Who the _fuck_. Something better be on fucking fire.” Victor yawns and wraps his arms around Eros’ waist.

Eros’ face softens and he rolls Victor into the blankets, “Hey!” Victor struggles against being turned into a burrito. Eros unhooks a curtain from the wall, leans over Victor and kisses his mouth; he pulls the curtain enough to cover Victor from prying eyes, but not enough to make Victor feel like he was being hidden.

Victor wrestles out of his prison of blankets and peeks around the curtain.

“What do _you_ want?” Eros’ voice is abrasive, but not cruel.

“I want to know why you weren’t- Oh my _God_ , are they still here?”

Victor perked up, he knew that voice! He wrapped a sheet around himself and tumbled out of the bed. “Phichit!”

Eros freezes. So does Phichit. To Victor’s disappointment, Eros isn’t naked.

“Oh, you two know each other?” asks Eros, still looking confused, but relaxing as Victor shuffles forward, draped in the sheet.

Phichit’s mouth falls open, he points to Victor and screams, “I told you not to sleep with him!”

“What??” Victor glances at Eros who looks just as confused.

“I told you to take it slow with him!” shrieks Phichit, “I told you not to fuck my friend!”

“ _This_ is Yuuri?!” Victor swings around to Eros, still looking heavy with sleep. Eros takes a step back, eyes shuttling from Phichit and Victor.

“Your name is Yuuri?” Victor demands.

“Yes,” says Eros, Yuuri, carding his fingers through his hair, “That’s me. You know Phichit?”

“This is the guy I was telling you about!” Phichit is still screaming as he turns towards Yuuri, “The one I wanted you to meet! I can’t _believe_ you fucked him!”

That was quite enough. Victor grabbed Phichit’s arm, “Okay, thank you, Phichit. Now good-bye.”

“Oh _hell_ no.” Phichit jabs Victor’s chest, “Yuuri take him on a date! He’s funny and successful and he’ll take care of you!”

“Oh my God,” Yuuri covers his face, “Princess. Get him out of my sight.”

Phichit’s face contorts into something like glee and Victor manages to shove him out the door, slamming it shut.

They stare at one another for a few moments.

“Sooo,” says Yuuri, rocking back on his heels, “Know any good places for lunch, Princess?”

“Only if you tell me how your swords work, Eros,” purred Victor, dragging Yuuri back to bed.

Yuuri snorted, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Victor pulled the curtain aside and crawled back into bed, knocking some pillows to the floor. Eros stood by the bed, head tipped to the side.

“Huh.”

“What?” Victor laid back and opened his arms, pleased when Yuuri crawled into his embrace. They kissed for a long time, long enough for Victor to begin feeling heavy and sleepy again.

“I’d almost forgotten, but Ultima was right.” Yuuri sighed and curled into Victor.

“Who was right?”

Yuuri shrugged, “A fortune teller. It’s fun to get my cards read sometimes. She said I was going to meet a princess soon, that was last week. Isn’t that funny?”

Victor was about to ask if Ultima was the cloaked lady, but Yuuri pulled the curtain closed, plunging them into a twilight. “We can talk over lunch,” said Yuuri, draping himself over Victor, “No more talking. Too early.”


	2. Flame Swallower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fire Eater.](https://somethingyoirelated.tumblr.com/post/161864606291/as-promised-fire-eateryuuri-i-imagine-him)  
>  Playing with fire=danger!!

“How does it feel?” Mila patiently waited for the response.

“It’s... nice.”

“I worked on this for the whole week,” snarled Mila, “I want more than ‘nice’! What’s wrong with it?”

“Itchy,” whined Yuuri, “The sparkles are itchy, can’t you use seaweed glitter or something?”

The curtain separating him and Mila ruffles, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri stepped back and scratched at his wrists while Mila came in and looked him over critically.

“It fits well?”

“Like a glove,” assured Yuuri, “It just itches. Look! My skin’s already going red! I’m stripping.” He unhooked the ring that rested across his shoulder blades, not caring that Mila watched with less than wholesome interest.

“Alright, I can see that. Fine. But seaweed glitter isn’t going to be as... big-flashy. Or long lasting”

“I don’t want big-flashy,” retorted Yuuri, slithering out of the five hundred fucking straps of the costume, he wriggled his hips and hopped out of it. “I like-“

“Subtlety,” sighed Mila, she inspected the coarse, costume glitter with a critical eye and watched, bemused as Yuuri scratched himself desperately.

“Better get your princess to put something on that, maybe you’re allergic to all glitter?”

“Seaweed glitter is fine!” said Yuuri annoyed, he pulled on some loose shorts, wincing at the rub of material against his raw skin. Mila ushered him out of the dressing room. He stopped scratching, but rubbed his skin as it bloomed red under his fingers. “Get the seaweed stuff coarse cut.”

“Wow, your skin is getting really red, “Mila frowned, grabbing Yuuri’s arm and looking at his wrist, “Go take an oatmeal bath and have Victor put aloe on you.”

Yuuri patted his neck where the costume was especially tight. “Yeah okay.”

“I’ll look for something soft and hypoallergenic,” promised Mila.

“You’d better or else the guests will get a different kind of show,” threatened Yuuri, “And when I scratch my ass to death it won’t be sexy.”

“Pfft, okay. Go.”

Yuuri forced himself to slide back into his clothes and walked normally to his and Victor’s rooms. He grinned happily and slid inside.

Victor wasn’t home so Yuuri drew himself a bath and threw all of their oatmeal into a blender before dumping it into the warm water in the tub, once he sank into the warmth of the bath and stirred the oatmeal he allowed himself to relax. Fuck glitter.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri yawned, “In here,” and rested his chin on the edge of the tub.

“What _happened?_ ” Victor rushed to him, kneeling by the tub. He carefully cradled Yuuri’s elbow and hand to get a long look at the reddened skin.

“Glitter,” said Yuuri darkly, “Also we’re out of oatmeal.”

Without another word, Victor took in the angry red splotches on Yuuri’s wrists and torso, the angry red stripes lashed across his back. “Did you do this on purpose?” Victor gingerly took Yuuri’s wrist and turned it over, no welting, but the skin felt tender.

“No, of course not. The glitter is part of my new costume and I guess I’m allergic.”

Victor scooped some of the oatmeal up out of the water and pressed it into Yuuri’s wrist like a paste, “For a new sword-swallowing act?”

“Nope,” murmured Yuuri, smiling coyly, “It’s for something new. You want to be my first audience?”

Victor leaned forward and kissed Yuuri. “Yes. But first I’m going to go get you more oatmeal. And we’ll try some aloe, I know someone has a plant. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Weighed down by pounds and pounds of oatmeal and cradling a fragile package of peeled aloe leaves, Victor returned triumphant. He heated more water and made a thick paste.

“Here, let’s get you out, love. No, don’t rinse it off.” Victor pressed kisses to Yuuri’s shoulders, careful to avoid any irritated skin as he wrapped Yuuri in a towel and led him to the bed where he’d laid down an old sheet.

“Cure me, Princess!” He commanded, smiling. Victor rolled his eyes and nudged him further back into the bed.

Victor leaned down and kissed him again, a long slow pull of lips that made Yuuri sigh. When he backed away, Victor frowned.

“You didn’t really think that would work, right?” Yuuri touched his lips, smiling up at Victor.

“And what if I did?” pouted Victor, upset his kisses weren’t magic.

“Silly,” teased Yuuri, and Victor grabbed his nose, “Okay! Okay!”

Victor left for a few minutes to make sure the oastmeal paste had cooled, when he returned Yuuri was dozing.

“Tea?” asked Victor, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s forehead.

He blinked slowly and stretched, “I’d love some.”

Victor stripped the cores from the aloe leaves and crushed them into a clear paste before smearing it on Yuuri. Once that was done he poured water into the electric kettle and got a spatula for the oatmeal paste.

“Oh that feels nice,” Yuuri’s eyes fluttered closed and Victor concentrated on covering most of the irritated skin with the aloe. The oatmeal was a little messier. Yuuri had to stand up to let Victor smear him

Oops,” Yuuri got oatmeal on Victor and grinned at Victor’s mock glare.

“Yuuuri,” whined Victor, “I have a meeting in a few hours, “And I can’t take both a shower _and_ take care of you.”

Yuuri huffed, displeased that Victor had to do this at all. “Okay, here. Let me get that off you.” Yuuri grabbed a hand towel. Victor approached him, wary of Yuuri’s oatmeal and aloe smeared body.

“Come,” said Yuuri impatiently and Victor leaned down. He gasped when Yuuri grabbed his face and licked the errant oatmeal off.

“There!” said Yuuri triumphantly, “All ready for your meeting, Princess.”

Victor’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Oh, I’m going to get you back for that.”

“I doubt it,” sighed Yuuri, “you’ll be too busy with your meetings.” He gave Victor a hard smile.

“You. Are in so much trouble when I get back,” warned Victor, gathering his things, his face flushed.

“Uh-huh,” said Yuuri, “Where’s my kiss?”

Victor rushed forward, “So much trouble.” He licked a filthy line across Yuuri’s lips.

After Victor left, Yuuri reapplied the aloe that had dried and wrapped himself in a clean sheet, curling up in the bed.

...

Victor was ready to come home and drag Yuuri into a desperate and heated fucking, but he found Yuuri asleep. Hair brushing across his eyebrows, soft and loose. He quickly started another bath and went back for Yuuri, The sheet was wrapped tightly around him so Victor just hooked his arm under Yuuri’s knees and shoulders, carrying him to the tub.

“Mm? Vicchan?” Yuuri hid his face, “Sleepy.” Victor struggled against the pressure building up in his chest, it burst across his skin, burning him where Yuuri touched his neck, his jaw.

Victor somehow managed to get Yuuri into the tub, sheets and all without injuring either of them. He arranged Yuuri so his lover wouldn’t drown and then left to prepare dinner.

When he returned, Yuuri was still half asleep in the tepid water, he held a hand out, fingers clumsy and grasping, “Join me,” said Yuuri. Victor kissed his wrist, the skin back to golden brown, not a trace of red left.

Victor ran back into the main room for some lube, and almost tripped  when he had to run back for the condoms. He stared at Yuuri who blinked up at him.

“No condom?” suggested Yuuri, standing up. The sheet stuck to his skin, marking the liquid lines of his body into that of a sculpture.

“Okay,” said Victor who felt dizzy already, and he thought he would collapse when Yuuri peeled the sheet off slowly, it slid from his shoulders and down his thighs to land in the hot water.

“Victor,” said Yuuri, smiling, “Give me the lube and strip down.”

Victor ends up on his back, water sloshing over his shoulders, fingers pressed into Yuuri’s ribs, his hips jerking back with every thrust from Yuuri. Victor likes looking at where they’re joined, likes watching Yuuri disappear into him, thick and hard and rolling his hips so Victor feels every _inch_.

He gasps and Yuuri curls into him pressing kisses to Victor’s neck, “You okay?”

“Keep doing that,” says Victor, his shoulders hitting the back of the tub with every strike from Yuuri, “ _Yes_.” Yuuri rolls his hips deep and slow and Victor sees stars, choking out praises and silly promises that make Yuuri grin.

“Don’t you dare come,” says Yuuri, lightly tracing Victor’s hips, nails scraping gently where Victor can feel his pules and arousal pooling, “We’re switching and don’t you dare come.” He growls this into Victor’s jaw, Victor looks down into Yuuri’s eyes. Dark, passion made liquid and he can’t help but moan, trying to pull his hips back so Yuuri can’t thrust quite so deep.

“So weak, Princess,” whispers Yuuri, eyes softening, he pushes Victor’s hair back, “Weak for me?”

Victor grabs Yuuri’s ass and pulls him in, grinding against the stretch, “Just your dick.”

Yuuri laughs and kisses Victor, his tongue tracing Victor’s teeth, his palate and all the while pushing into Victor, fingers tracing Victor’s body, down to his thigh. He arches into Victor, knees shoving into the back of Victor’s thighs when he comes. Victor holds him, curling in the water lapping at their thighs and chests.

“Princess?”

“I’m okay. Bed?”

Yuuri kneels over him, flushed and looking sleepy, “Yes.” Yuuri runs his hands up Victor’s thighs, “I like this view.”

The bed is a lot more comfortable than the tub and Victor kisses Yuuri’s shoulders and neck the entire time, shuddering at how Yuuri clenches around him, at the arch in Yuuri’s back and the slap of skin.

Afterwards, once Yuuri has cleaned them both up and they’re lazily kissing, just the slow press of lips, Victor asks, “Are you going to tell me what your new costume is for?”

Yuuri smiled, “I’ll show you as soon as everything’s ready.”

“Can’t wait,” murmured Victor, pressing his face into Yuuri’s chest, inhaling the cinnamon-y smell of Yuuri’s soap.

...

There are only four chairs set up in the area, and three of them are taken: Mila, himself, the carnival’s boss. After a few minutes Phichit comes in, throwing himself into the last chair, followed by Yuuri wearing a burnished copper cloak that trails behind him, twisting awkwardly when Yuuri turns to face the audience.

Yuuri turns and straightens out his cloak. “See Mila? This is why I should come in from the front, it looks awkward.”

Mila sighed and made a note in the book she held, “Can’t you just turn quicker to fan out the material?”

Yuuri scowled, “Can you make the material lighter?”

“Do you want to catch on fire?”

“No,” said Victor loudly, “We don’t want that.” He had no idea what Yuuri’s new show was but if it included fire Victor was on _high alert._

Phichit snickered, “Can I take a picture?”

Yuuri frowned and Phichit pleaded, “Pleeeease! Just one! And I know you won’t let me take a picture of the costume.” Yuuri nodded slowly and Phichit excitedly snapped one of Yuuri standing in the large empty sand box within the main tent, copper cloak hiding everything but his smoldering eyes.

“What’s the sand for?” asked Victor.

“It’s in case-“

“Alright!” yelled Yuuri, “I’m ready to start!” He glared at Mila who looked at Victor guiltily.

Yuuri flipped the hood over his face and the lights dimmed to a low glimmer.

A dark blue spotlight focused on him. Yuuri spun, the material of his robe tightening around his legs, and when Victor blinked the cape continued spinning and it flew from Yuuri’s shoulders. Then the music started, slow sultry beats that Yuuri accentuated with tight turns of his hips and flicks of his hands.

Phichit reached out to squeeze his arm, “Oh my god.”

Victor agreed, the costume was... something else.

Instead of his usual shorts, Yuuri was clad in a series of black velvet straps that hugged him tightly enough to accentuate his curves. And between Yuuri’s shoulder blades rested a large metallic ring keeping the whole ensemble on Yuuri. Victor swallowed hard, wondering if Yuuri had purposefully chosen the velvet strips to dig into his skin like that.

Yuuri held large metal fans, intricate works of metal that ended in points wrapped in cloth. He snapped the fans open and started to dance. The fans followed his movements, twisting and playing coy with the audience.

And then Yuuri snapped them shut with an awful scraping sound, and suddenly everything was on fire.

The edge of the stage and Yuuri’s fans were crackling with orange-yellow licks of fire.

Victor froze, terrified and also fascinated with the dance, the sensuous and dangerous rolled into one.

And then Yuuri was done, dropping the metal fans onto the sand pit.

“Well that’s what I have for the dancing, how many tricks can you incorporate?”

The circus master was grinning, “I have a few ideas and it will all integrate well with your dancing but I’m not sure about the fans, they’re a bit unwieldy.”

Victor was out of his chair and at Yuuri’s side in a second. “I agree. Something smaller would be safer.”

“Victor...” The scowl from his lover only made Victor dig his heels in.

“He’s right. If you want to add fire-eating—”

Victor almost fainted, Yuuri grabbed his arm. “Are you alright?”

“Please don’t eat fire,” said Victor weakly, trying to keep a hold on Yuuri, even as the circus master and Yuuri helped him sit down.

Amused, Yuuri flicked his nose, “Eating fire was my _first_ profession. It’s much safer than shoving swords down my throat. But then we realized I didn’t have a gag reflex so...” Yuuri had the grace to look a little embarrassed. He squeezed Victor’s knee. “Princess, I’m very careful about these things. Trust me?”

Victor’s vision was still swimming but he nodded reluctantly. “Fine... Just please... I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Tenderly, Yuuri stroked Victor’s cheek. “How could I say no to this face. I’ll be _very_ careful.”

Victor nodded and decided not to listen to whatever conversation the circus master and Yuuri were having, ignorance was bliss after all.

“Why don’t you go on ahead with Phichit,” suggested Yuuri bringing Victor to his feet, “I have to change.”

“Okay...”

Halfway to the entrance of the fairgrounds, Victor realized he forgot to lock their rooms. “I’ll be right back,” promised Victor, “Wait for me!”

“Yeah,” scoffed Phichit, “Like Yuuri would leave you. I’m more likely to get left behind!”

Victor rolled hsi eyes and dashed away, not wanting to waste their day off. Yuuri had been so excited about grabbing dinner with Phichit off the grounds.

The circus master’s suite of rooms were near theirs and for some reason, Victor had always been creeped out by the shade and carvings on the wooden frame. Usually he would give the whole area a wide berth, but Yuuri would be _waiting_ Victor passed right in front of the door.

And there was Yuuri, stepping out, looking pale and unsteady on his feet. The circus master following close behind

Victor ducked behind a screen of canvas, managing to peek out. There was a thin golden chain around Yuuri’s neck, the leash of it clutched in the master’s hand.

“Your curfew is 10pm sharp,” said the circus master gruffly, “Or else it will become very difficult to breathe for you and your dear princess, understood?”

Victor gasped and touched his neck. Was it his imagination or could he feel something small and hard threaded right under his skin? Victor closed his eyes and tucked himself into the deepest part of the canvas folds, praying he wouldn’t be seen.

Dazed, Victor started walking once it was quiet, and somehow he ended up back in hi sand Yuuri’s rooms. Victor thought the rooms had been quaint and cozy but now they seemed cramped, the walls leering and too thin. He backed out and closed the door, locking it.

Too shaken to walk, Victor collapsed on the steps, hiding his face, touching the small strange links under his skin, right about his collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops that got dark at the end D: :o

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, some people were worried about what happens in a week when the carnival leaves?
> 
> So, Victor busts down the door into the boss person's office the next day, talking out of his ass about the carnival bleeding money. "I can help. I'm the best at this stuff. I'll get you more money than you know what to do with."
> 
> The boss person hires Victor? They just can't believe this person busted down their door, carrying a laptop and projector, with glossy printed notes to boot. The notes are spiral bound, and the carnival's web address is in neat bold letters on every page. They don't have a website? "You do now," says Victor forcefully, "It's an amazing website. Very professional. I also made maps of the carnival grounds," he says procuring a glossy folded map. The powerpoint Victor presents is professional and brutal in it's assessment of the carnival's revenue and expenditure, it ends with a shot of Yuuri's ass.
> 
> The boss person is all, "Oh. You're here for him."
> 
> Victor is all, "I thought that was obvious??????????? Can I go now???? Am I hired????? Yuuri is still asleep and naked and can I go??????" The bossperson hires Victor.
> 
> The powerpoint makes the rounds and everyone razzes on Yuuri who is much too smug about everything to do more than call Victor, his Princess in front of everyone. But it backfires because the nickname sticks and Yuuri is upset because he has to find a new name to call Victor in bed.
> 
> The End


End file.
